


killing me softly with his song

by gaebolg



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, rare pair lovers can I get a whoop whoop, tags will be updated with second part, the bard husbands fight & make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-08-23 19:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaebolg/pseuds/gaebolg
Summary: Ignorance is always best when it comes to what seems to be an impossible crush.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write these two ever since I started the Bard quests & realized how utterly gay they are for each other. idk how popular the ship is but LOL I love them too much & they need more content, rare pair hell
> 
> so here we are & the next part will be super duper sessy

Insufferable as the bard had been in the beginning of their travels, Sanson can’t deny that he’s grown rather fond of him. The way he crafts together songs in such a beckoning tone is difficult not to find endearing.

Nor the way his smile so easily turns into a confident smirk in the moments that follow his fingers plucking over the string in the last lyric of a song.

And he best not think too hard on the attractive qualities that Guydelot naturally has.

It’s what makes Sanson nervous these days. Trying so hard to focus on tasks at hand, yet any time the man is lingering close to him in a friendly manner, Sanson practically stumbles over his words or ends up with slew of quill markings over his papers which most certainly _ruin_ them. All due to his crush, which he will remain ignorant to for as long as he can.

He’s doing a very poor job of that though.

“What’s got you so stiff?”

The question prompts him to stop scribbling his latest report. ‘Sanson the Stiff’ is certainly living up to his namesake. Inwardly he sighs, distracted by the sound of a now, empty mug that hits the bar to his right.

“Just many details that need to be noted lest I forget.”

His gaze doesn’t stray from the pages, willing himself not to give into the way he can feel Guydelot staring at him. That is until a fresh mug of ale is placed so close to his journal that the overflow of foam nearly stains the corner of his page.

“Take a break. Being so stressed all the time isn’t good for your health you know.”

Sanson’s gaze lower to slits as he glances from the mug to the bard. It’s not as if he isn’t correct, and it _has_ been quite some time since he’s had a taste of ale at all.

Reluctantly he closes the journal. It’s not as if he’s going to get any work done with Guydelot constantly invading his personal space and ruining his concentration.

“Why are you so insistent on having _me_ as a drinking companion?” Sanson asks, taking the mug in hand to take an initially sip. He wipes away bits of foam while judging the taste. It’s mediocre at best, not terrible at least. “Normally you’re off scouring for a means of entertainment.”

It’s an insinuation to sensual matters, of which he’s done his best to ignore. The prickle of jealousy that arises at times when he spots the man attempting to woo a woman _or_ man in the darker corners of a tavern never fails to have him wishing it was him in the stranger’s place. He’s always managed to push down those startling emotions, covering it up with a sense of duty, and remaining vigilant to the end goal of their journey.

Guydelot wouldn’t want him anyways.

“I’ve plenty right here. Have we not grown close enough that we may enjoy one another’s company?”

There’s a sensible part of Sanson’s mind that screams _this is a bad idea_. Yet he manages to smother it by chugging more of the ale, partially out of social anxiety (for not doing these things often), and partially because he likes having Guydelot stare at him. And in that moment it feels as if he’s doing nothing but that.

“Tis true; however, you do like to bicker with me quite often. Or have your interests changed?”

Something in the way Sanson words the question resonates in a peculiar way with Guydelot. It shows in the way various emotions chase across his features, of which he covers up by drinking a good portion of his own mug.

“Bickering is merely part of our natural routine isn’t it? Does it not also act as a means of furthering something else too?”

Sanson proves to be stumped at that response. Muddling up his head is what Guydelot has been talented at, and it’s working him over in that moment. The ale doesn’t necessarily help in attempting to sort out the meaning of those cryptic words.

He brushes past the topic simply enough by meeting Guydelot in another round of drinks. They manage to fall into swapping old stories about their times in the line of duty or memories from their journey up to that point. It’s when a few hours pass that Sanson realizes he’s a little uninhibited, because he can’t stop glancing at Guydelot’s lips as he speaks.

“Excuse me.”

As he slides off the stool, he manages to make it to the back room well enough, finding the toilet and taking a moment to recompose himself a little. It’s as he’s staring in the mirror that he notices how his hair is disheveled from his ponytail, probably from one of the many times Guydelot slung his arm over his shoulders in the midst of their jovial conversations.

Biting his lip, he redoes his hair as best he can, noting that if he drinks anymore he most definitely will be stumbling home.

Resigning himself to drinking water for the remainder of the evening (at least one of them has to be responsible after all, and he can’t count on Guydelot to do so), he exits back into the hallway that leads into the main tavern area.

Although he only manages to get a few steps out before someone is blocking him off.

“Sanson, it’s been quite a while.”

It takes a moment for him to recognize who it is addressing him. The somewhat handsome face triggers the remembrance though as it’s someone he’s worked with in the past. This particular someone always gave him the impression that he liked to flirt, and Sanson not being used to any such advances proved to fluster him quite often.

“It has, have you been well?’

“Well enough. I dare say, it would be nice to work together again though.”

In the midst of exchanging pleasantries, Sanson ends up leaning against the wall for support, and his lowered defenses have him missing how the other starts to inch closer.

“You know, I have always been a little miffed that I missed my chance at telling you something.”

There’s a bit of panic thrumming through Sanson. It’s mildly numbed due to the alcohol, but he can still feel it with the way this young man is nearly trapping him against the wall now. When a hand is placed just shy of his head, he tries to grapple for words, anything to possibly refute what direction this is heading.

A tug on his consciousness reminds him that Guydelot is nearby and waiting for his return. That thought stings, but so does the notion that Guydelot doesn’t _care_ for him past a sense of camaraderie. It’s what makes him hesitate in removing himself from the situation, a curiosity for an affection he hasn’t had in so long rooting him in place.

“What is it you wish to tell me then?”

As soon as he says the words he regrets them.

“Sanson? Are you all right?”

An immense wave of dread washes over him upon seeing Guydelot standing there. The look on his face is incredulous and a strange mix of hurt flashes through his eyes. It has Sanson reacting instantly, pushing past the arm that has caged him in, and almost stumbling forward near the bard.

“I’m fine, simply was catching up with a comrade.”

Guydelot clicks his tongue, sparing the stranger an unreadable look before turning to wordlessly leave the tavern. It’s not like the bard hasn’t stormed out on him in the past during minor squabbles, so Sanson’s instinctive response is to chase after him.

Only when they’re both away from the tavern, diverted away from most people roaming the area does Guydelot pause in his steps, noticing that he’s indeed being followed.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you still be _reminiscing_?”

The single word is practically hissed out in a loathsome way. He’s heard Guydelot mutter things with bite to them in the past, but this is a whole another level that has Sanson wincing.

“It’s not what you think.”

“What I think?” Guydelot whirls around, the suddenness of it causing Sanson to step backward, almost stumbling as he hits a tree. “What I _think_ and what I **_saw_** are one in the same I believe.”

Something in the way Guydelot accuses him forces Sanson to take a defensive stance. Mostly because it erupts such a bout of hypocrisy that none of his is warranted from the bard.

“And what of it? What if it was that? I’ve seen you many a time doing the same things if not worse, right in my very presence. Why should you care what I do, or who I chose to do it with?!”

The words overflow, loaded with the jealousy that has been branded on him ever since he realized how deep his feelings truly ran for the bard. There’s no holding them back, not with how they were provoked out of him, completely unhinged.

A deep, resonating anger shows in those icy, blue eyes though. It’s enough to have Sanson retracting only a bit, hitting the surface of the tree yet again even as his own frustration is still churning.

“They were never what I truly wanted.” He states in a bitter tone, staring at Sanson with an intensity that he’s never seen before.

Sanson’s brows furrow, thoughts a flurry of vexation and stubbornness. Though it’s true he hasn’t witnessed the bard doing such sordid things as of late, the ones of the past still occurred, and that doesn’t diminish the hurt felt from them. “It matters not. You still did it.”

“Holding me accountable for my past are you?” Guydelot says in a somewhat more even tone, though his hands are still shaking from what happened before. “Are you truly blind to what I’ve been doing lately? Does it not matter what I do _now_?”

“You’ve always been the same way Guydelot, do not take me for a fool.”

The words sear through the bard, and the frustration translates in the way he stalks forward, trapping Sanson against the tree with no hope of escaping.

“I’ve not been the same, not since I fell in love with you!”

An unbearable shock leaves Sanson stunned into silence. He’s frantically staring at Guydelot, seeing how close he lingers in the midst of their quarrel, and when he’s finally able to feel anything else it possesses him to act rashly.

His fingers dig hard at the front of the bard’s shirt, clumsily finding his lips, but the moment he does, he puts his all into the kiss. Desperation from months of pining has his fingers shaking, a low noise of need melding in the contact, and soon enough Guydelot is pressing forward into it with an unstoppable sense of passion.

That lanky frame aligns with Sanson’s, pinning him to the tree as he kisses him in such a way that reveals how long he’s been holding back. The ardency is well known in how he savors each kiss, his tongue seeking out Sanson’s own to deepen it with a groan, hands mindlessly roaming over Sanson’s sides to try and find the skin beneath his clothing. It’s as if he can’t get enough.

In the midst of shadows, the faint rustling of trees proves to even out the tension between them, and Guydelot manages to withdraw. Gently he brushes the back of his knuckles over Sanson’s cheek, taking in his flushed features as his thumb runs over his lower lip.

“You taste better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

He speaks as if a man starved for too long. There’s a heaviness in Sanson’s chest, one that has him exhaling a shudder of a breath, nipping faintly over the thumb hovering near his mouth.

“I can say the same for you, but I’d much rather judge properly if I may…”

Perhaps it’s the hints of alcohol that leave him a little uninhibited or the thrill of the moment itself that fills him with such boldness, but regardless he’s already kneeling onto the ground before any second thoughts can be made on the matter. The change in position forces Guydelot to step back enough for him to see how Sanson is on his knees.

“Do you truly intend to…here?” He asks, swallowing thickly as the shape of his cock is already outlining against his trousers. It’s not as if he hasn’t done these sordid things in public before, but having Sanson take part in it is unexpected.

Sanson’s fingers are already tracing up the length of Guydelot’s thighs, thumb dragging over the front where he can feel that hardness forming. “I do, unless you’d rather I didn’t-“

“No, I do!” Guydelot hastily cuts him off, watching how Sanson’s lips quirk into a half-smile. There’s a blush that is forming over his cheeks as he unties the bard’s trousers, fingers tugging at the smallclothes enough to free the cock beneath.

When he’s exposed, Guydelot breathes Sanson’s name shakily, intently watching every second of how Sanson grips over him at the hilt. His fingers also brush against his balls in his exploration, and Guydelot can’t help the choked sound that escape the moment those lips suck on the head once.

“I’ve not done this in a long time so…” Sanson mutters, a shyness evident, but he does his best to cover it up by dragging his tongue over the length in his grasp to slick it up.

Such knowledge has Guydelot unable to hold back in how his hand finds the back of Sanson’s head.

“Shall I consider myself lucky that you would want me badly enough to have your fill where anyone might see?”

It’s as Sanson starts to run his mouth over that cock that’s thick and hard in his hand that he listens to Guydelot. The notion of his words have him squirming a little on the ground, knowing that if anyone saw it would be humiliating, but the way his own cock is leaking in his smallclothes is proof that he _wouldn’t_ _care_. The terrible voice in the back of his head feeds into that, knowing full well that he’s wanted this for too damn long, and that if anything he would want everyone to see and know that only _he_ can now service the bard like this.

“Or perhaps that’s what you want?”

Sanson’s moan is muffled, only able to stare up and see how those blue eyes stare down at him with such hunger. A burning need to please him more than anything takes over. All the nights of fantasizing over this very thing has him sucking harder, etching every noise and look Guydelot makes for him into his memory.

The noises start to grow obscenely loud as more drool trails past Sanson’s lips, his hand soaking from how he strokes over the areas he can’t quite reach with his mouth. Guydelot is practically panting, one hand lodged against the tree for the support, the other having torn out the tie in Sanson’s hair, buried into dark locks as he’s having to restrain himself from thrusting too much into that wet heat.

“I want…to fuck you so hard after this…”

Guydelot groans out, voice growing raw from how he has to restrain himself from growing too loud, although the more unrestrained he becomes, the more difficult it is not to outright fuck Sanson’s pretty mouth.

Seeing how red his lips and cheeks are, and the way he’s shamelessly so hard as well is the most beautiful thing Guydelot has ever seen.

With his hand fisting more into Sanson’s hair, he starts to thrust a little faster, not going too hard, just on pace enough that his breaths grow quicker, cock throbbing against the tongue that roams to catch the drops of precum that leak from the slit. The more Sanson tastes, the greedier he becomes, foregoing holding on Guydelot’s cock any longer with the way his mouth is used.

He runs a hand over Guydelot’s thigh to grip hard, the other openly rubbing over his front, knowing that the friction wouldn’t be enough but he knows the sight of it would rile Guydelot up even more. So long Sanson’s kept up a life of decency even behind closed doors, yet knowing that he has to contend with the past affairs Guydelot has had, it makes him keen on pushing his own limits, and barriers coming down in favor of becoming whorish if need be.

It surprises him how easily it is for him to do. Guydelot must bring it out of him, because he’s moaning each time he swallow more of the precum, and it has him almost trembling in anticipation for what Guydelot has yet to give him.

“Seven – hells – _Sanson_-“

Guydelot gasps, unrestrained thrusts becoming erratic as he relents to that build up, hips stilling suddenly as the waves of cum are hot on the man’s tongue, able to feel how he starts to swallow it, a low noise of contentment reverberating around him even as Sanson does so. It makes Guydelot shiver, nails digging into the tree as a few more spurts of cum are sucked from his throbbing cock.

When Sanson pulls back, saliva glistens on his face, and reddened lips only add to how debauched he now looks. It’s a look that Guydelot finds is much to his liking, so much that he can’t resist falling to his knees before him, cupping his face to indulge in a messy kiss of which he can taste himself on his tongue. That elicits terrible, terrible thoughts in his mind, and he can’t resist muttering against Sanson’s mouth.

“Lets go home…we’re not finished yet.”


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow they return to Sanson’s quarters without issue even while being incessantly handsy with one another. Sanson barely manages to get the door unlocked before Guydelot is cupping his face, kissing him hard with his tongue roaming over his lips till they’re pliant. Those very same lips are still a lovely shade of red from earlier events which motivates Guydelot to claim them over and over. Each kiss serves as a reminder of how Sanson so willingly swallowed down his cock, and that alone is enough to have Guydelot growing hot under the collar.

Clumsily does Sanson kick the door closed, both of them stumbling back through the living room to the hallway leading to the bedroom. Of course, they hardly get far, not with the way Sanson keeps grabbing at Guydelot’s shirt to have the bard practically caging him in, their hips unable to resist g together as they align against the surface of the wall a few times in the midst of their hasty approach.

“Are you that starved?” Guydelot asks breathlessly as Sanson finally relents kissing him senseless in favor of tugging him into his bedroom.

“If I say ‘yes I am for you’, will that go to your head?”

Although he already knows the answer, can see it on Guydelot’s face as it sinks in. The bard shows an insufferable smirk, of which Sanson attempts to avoid looking at for too long because Guydelot looks torturously attractive every time he shows it, and he’s still hard as fuck from only teasing himself earlier. Instead he occupies himself with shedding the black, thigh high boots, which he wonders if Guydelot is keen on seeing as his gaze is glued to him the entire time it takes for him to tug them off his legs and toss them aside.

“I’m flattered for one, and also very willing to make sure you’ve had your fill.”

Guydelot states with a sensuous certainty that has Sanson shivering. It’s his turn to watch as Guydelot kicks off his shoes in a less than dignified manner before moving closer to him, effectively having them both falling back onto the sheets until they can’t resist finding one another’s lips again.

It’s in those moments that Sanson believes he could die happy just simply kissing Guydelot. The way he kisses is absurdly passionate. Every little caress made over his cheek down to his collarbone through it all has him helpless in the noises that Guydelot eats up. They encourage the elezen, his hands becoming bolder as they roam down to start unbuckling the sides of Sanson’s shirt.

When bare skin is revealed, long fingers dip down the center of his chest, nails lightly dragging to circle his nipple which have Sanson arching up further against the man. The most undignified sound escapes him, his pants now unforgivably tight, and growing worse each time with the outline of Guydelot’s cock rutting against him.

Sanson can feel the smirk against his skin, and when he looks down he watches the way Guydelot starts to shift his position further down to his chest. Those lips coyly start to brush over his right nipple until a tongue peeks out to flick over it. When he lightly bites as well, Sanson hisses, pushing a hand into the bard’s hair as the sensations grow overwhelming.

“Does my fill also include teasing me until I break?”

The bard finds himself exceedingly pleased with these reactions. He coaxes more out by shifting over to the other nipple to lick and bite it, a low chuckle of affirmation to the previous question heightening the tingles that nearly have Sanson writhing beneath his grasp. It’s when a whine etches from Sanson’s throat that Guydelot finds his own patience starting to run thin.

“I assure you, I intend to leave my mark on you quite thoroughly.”

Following that remark which has Sanson immensely hard now, Guydelot sheds the layers of clothing still on Sanson’s frame. The tension is thick, and Sanson can’t help sitting up to start tugging on Guydelot’s clothing in return, appreciating the sight as more of his body is revealed for Sanson.

It’s when they’re both finally bare that Sanson can _feel_ the length and thickness of that cock dragging over his inner thigh. The sheer size of it has him letting out an unsteady breath, staring up at Guydelot who is very intent on fucking him just as he proclaimed.

“Would it be remiss of me to ask you to prepare yourself? I can’t help wanting to watch.”

Guydelot’s question leaves Sanson unable to breathe for a moment. He’s quick to agree though, reaching back into his bedside table to pull out a container of salve he knows is tucked away in there.

“Is this a habit of yours?”

Sanson asks, inwardly not wanting it to be true but unable to keep himself from asking. If the bard spent this much time with past conquests, would it make this moment any less special?

“Definitely not.” He quells Sanson’s fear, eyes half-lidded while he watches the way Sanson slicks up his fingers, only to circle his hole afterward and press one inside.

Making a show of it then despite the embarrassment that initially plagues him, Sanson keeps his legs spread as wide as they can go, hips starting to cant into the way his finger pushes deeper, stretching himself open gradually. Little by little he picks up the pace, and when he has a second finger inside, he can feel Guydelot’s hands running to grip over his thighs.

He must look like quite a mess. With his hair having falling from the tie and matted against his head, Sanson peers at Guydelot, seeing how blue eyes focused on his fingers, salve starting to mix with the way precum drips down his neglected cock that have the sounds growing louder with each thrust of his hand.

“How often do you do this?” Guydelot asks, voice grated as he lingers in close to brush his lips over Sanson’s thigh.

“You – _nggh_…have to ask?” Getting the response out without it being a broken mess is almost impossible. His words grow breathier still as he brushes against his prostate in the midst of a third finger having been added. “…any time I’m with you…I have to as soon as I get home…”

Sanson curls his toes against the sheets, hips arching up more with the way his body is craving more than just this, especially from the way Guydelot is meeting his gaze now with an intensity that has him whimpering the bard’s name.

“I’ll need to make up for lost time then.”

He mutters against Sanson’s thigh once more before reaching to grab ahold of Sanson’s hand. Those fingers slip out with a harsh, squelching sound that have Sanson shivering and leave Guydelot unable to hold back any longer. His hand is shaking as he gathers salve to coat his cock, grabbing onto Sanson’s hips to drag him in closer and align himself properly.

Sanson goes to wrap his legs around Guydelot’s hips, only to end up having them thrown over the elezen’s shoulders instead, and the position alone feels degrading but in a way that has him shuddering.

Guydelot can see the way his cock starts to stretch him open with the initial push inside. Occasionally he glances up to meet Sanson’s gaze, his hands running down to grip at his ass, until he’s fitting inside that vice-like heat. It has Guydelot exhaling slowly, steadying himself in the few minutes that follow, and allowing Sanson time to grow accustomed to his size.

That alone has Sanson nearly coming undone. He’s leaking heavily over his stomach, the sensitivity from having been teased so much already coupled with the fact that he hasn’t been with anyone like this in months starting to become unbearable.

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to stop wanting to fucking you if you feel this good already.”

The bard mutters in a guttural tone, thick with desire, and Sanson can only whimper in response.

It’s then Guydelot begins a very slow pace, switching up the angles until he watches the way Sanson clings to the sheets, backing arching up as he goes rigid from pleasure. Knowing that’s the spot has a smirk tugging on Guydelot’s lips, purposefully pounding into him, that wet heat around his cock possessing him to be incessant with it. He wants to make Sanson fall apart again and again, only ever thinking of _him_.

“Don’t stop – I’m already-“ Sanson pleads, the feeling of being filled like this and Guydelot being the one to do it is enough to have him so close to coming untouched. He’s gasping the most incoherent things, and that spurs Guydelot on, because soon enough he’s moving a hand to stroke over Sanson’s cock, snapping his hips forward to ruin any prospect of Sanson holding back.

“Come for me.” There’s an underlying command in how Guydelot says that, and it’s what has Sanson thrusting up into his hand, body completely under Guydelot’s control. It only takes that cock shoving in to the deepest point once more to have him trembling, his own cock throbbing in Guydelot’s grasp as ribbons of cum start to streak over them both.

Sanson’s gasps are riddled into broken cries of Guydelot’s name, hips stuttering in the midst of riding out that intense orgasm, knowing he must look absolutely ruined with the way cum is now dripping off his chest and even down his ass to coat Guydelot’s cock.

“A-Ah…you haven’t finished yet though…” He sounds mildly disappointed with himself despite how his body is sated for the moment.

Guydelot is a man obsessed after that.

He suddenly lowers Sanson back onto the sheets, not even paying any mind to how much a mess is currently between them. Pulling out of Sanson has the smaller man whining from the loss, body completely oversensitive at just having come, but he still craves that closeness.

“What- what are you doing?” Sanson manages to ask in-between bated breaths, and the question is soon answered with how Guydelot flips Sanson over. Once again, there’s a degradation involved in the choice of position, and Sanson readily props himself on his hands and knees for it.

“I’m not done with you my sweet.”

The bard gives a lone kiss to the base of Sanson’s spine, eyes darkening as he leans in against him, and the tip of his cock brushes that hole that is twitching from being used thus far.

“Guydelot…” A whimper of his name is heard as Sanson can feel his ass stretched open again, and the thrusts that follow grow harsher, angling against that spot once more which has him shuddering from still being oversensitive. He buries his face against the sheets, tears prickling the corner of his eyes, and those nails digging into his skin are telling of how Guydelot is intent on not stopping any time soon.

“You’re so perfect, you feel so good, Sanson you’re so wet inside-“

The words keep tumbling out as hot whispers against the back of Sanson’s neck, growing filthier as the squelching sounds become louder, and soon enough Guydelot is forgone enough to pin those hips down and fuck into him so hard that Sanson chokes on his moans.

Praise and how addicted Guydelot already seems to be to him is what has Sanson overwhelmed in a way he never wants to cease. He’s gradually growing hard again, shivering at the way his prostate is abused by Guydelot, and that has him delirious with pleasure to the point of drool staining the sheets even as he tries to speak to his own, lust-addled thoughts.

“More – need more-“

When he starts to rock back against Guydelot’s hips, he can _feel_ the way Guydelot growls against his neck, the warmth of his frame pulling back as he starts to grind harshly into him once more. He must be staring at the sight again, because Sanson is helpless to hearing how Guydelot’s breaths hitch before he’s muttering with dark intent, so much that it causes Sanson to grinding down against the sheets, seeking friction against his cock needing attention again.

“Had I known you would be as eager as any cock slut, I would’ve had you sooner.”

A harsh whine is torn from Sanson’s throat at the way those long fingers weave into his hair, gripping so hard his head is forced back, able to feel hot breaths against his neck from such obscene accusations. He can feel how that cock has stretched him to the point that his ass is gaping, and it makes him feel used in a way that he needs more of.

Something about Guydelot fills a void, one of affection yet depravity.

“I love it, your cock is so good, haven’t felt anything so good.”

It’s meant to be praise, but the insinuation that _others_ have had their fill of Sanson strikes that possessive chord in Guydelot. He shoves the man’s head back down against the sheets, hovering against his back as his nails dig into his skin, hips rutting forward so hard that the sound of his balls smacking that tight ass are near-deafening.

“Only _my_ cock can make you feel this way, no one else can ever hold you down and fuck you open like this. You’re _mine_.”

“Yoursyours_onlyyours_” The words are a broken mess of moans, nearly crying Guydelot’s name as his body is completely helpless to the onslaught of pleasure from how the head of that cock keeps ramming over his that spot. When Guydelot greedily shoves his hand underneath of Sanson to grab onto his cock, the firm strokes in time with his possessive thrusts make Sanson light-headed, desperation starting to set in with the way he trembles. “Guydelot – _please_-“

Sanson is held in that same position, body arched to Guydelot’s whims, throat raw from the choked gasps that are unceasing the closer he gets to being wrecked yet again. It coils so suddenly, and it’s the way Guydelot groans his name against his ear that has him begging for release.

“Say what you want.” He bids in a grated tone, knowing what Sanson wants, but hearing him plead like this is addicting.

“I want to come, I want to feel your cum in me- _Guydelot_-“

The way Sanson mutters Guydelot’s name again with a dire reverence is all it takes.

With his hand still clinging to raven locks, Guydelot pants against Sanson’s ear, that heat enveloping him, growing tighter with each thrust. The hand fisting around Sanson’s cock doesn’t cease, not even when Sanson chokes out Guydelot’s name, that hand greedily stroking him dry.

Even then Sanson is whimpering, able to feel the way Guydelot shoves into him one last time before stilling, and hot cum starts to fill him up. Guydelot’s breath is right against his ear, moaning his name as more cum spurts out, pulsations able to be felt each time which have Sanson shuddering.

The hand in Sanson’s hair loosens as Guydelot runs his hands down to grip his hips instead. He shallowly thrusts a few times, allowing the last bits of his cum to smear inside that hole even as trails of it start to drip out and coat Sanson’s thighs. It’s the warmth from it staining Sanson’s thighs that leave him feeling both used and elated all at once.

Guydelot must feel the same, because he’s speaking Sanson’s name in a softer tone, his lips dragging over the side of his neck. His hands roam to caress over his chest after that, remaining close as they both remain in that high, unable to pry themselves away from one another just yet.

“Gods, you’re so perfect, how am I to ever keep myself away from you now?”

Sanson hums in contentment, head tilting back to feel how Guydelot kisses up to his cheek as well.

“Now that I’ve thoroughly seduced you, I don’t expect you to keep your hands off me.”

It’s no surprise that Guydelot would be able to make good on that assumption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :') I have at least 3 other fics in the works for these two so expect more in the near future!

**Author's Note:**

> CRIES IN BARD
> 
> I need more ppl who ship this so pls cry at me on twitter, GAEBOLGNOVUS


End file.
